


5 + 1 | Promise I’ll Be the Cure

by Janieohio



Series: Seven Shades of Romance [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 5 Times, 5+1 Things, Breakfast, Caring Draco Malfoy, Community: Seven Shades of Drarry, Cooking, Fluff, Food is Draco's Love Language, Friends to Lovers, Grief/Mourning, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hurt/Comfort, Insecure Harry Potter, Love Confessions, M/M, Oblivious Harry Potter, POV Harry Potter, Romance, Sassy Draco Malfoy, Seriously - Have a Snack First, Slow Burn, Tropes, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Warning: This Story May Make You Hungry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-15 19:08:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29319147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Janieohio/pseuds/Janieohio
Summary: Through the years, Harry finds himself growing closer to Draco, eventually becoming friends. If only Harry could figure out why every time he needs somebody, Draco’s the one who's there.-or-Five times Draco takes care of Harry, and the one time Harry figures out why.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Series: Seven Shades of Romance [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2153148
Comments: 8
Kudos: 180
Collections: Seven Shades of Drarry





	5 + 1 | Promise I’ll Be the Cure

**Author's Note:**

> This work is part of the **Seven Shades of Romance** anthology, the fourth in a series of collaborative projects within the **[Seven Shades of Drarry](/collections/Seven_Shades_of_Drarry)** collective.
> 
>  **Chosen tropes:** 5+1, Redeemed Draco, Oblivious Harry, Slow Burn, Friends to Lovers 
> 
> **A/N:** Thanks to all my lovely friends in the Seven Shades Collaboration. I can't believe it's been a whole year! You're all amazing people, and I'm lucky to call you my friends. You're all my Valentines (just don't tell my husband and kids!) ;)
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** All characters belong to JKR and associated publishers. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended. The comments and opinions expressed by the original creator do not reflect the views of the author of this transformative work.
> 
> There’s also a playlist created for this anthology that can be found [here on Spotify](https://spoti.fi/3tIY5TG); one song for each of the seven fics included in the collection. 
> 
> **Accompanying song:** ["The Cure" by Lady Gaga](https://open.spotify.com/track/34oB5r0lcN3fYWCs2uA1k5?si=cKoP_CooQmOAMSJQsrSffQ). I recommend listening to it after reading and treating it as Draco’s POV. The title of this story is pulled from the lyrics. 

* * *

**1**

Harry ran. It was a cold, April morning, the sun barely beginning to show over the jagged mountain tops surrounding the castle. In the dawn silence, the sound of his heart pounded loudly in his ears in cadence with his footfalls. Thump. Thump. Thump. He relished the absence of voices, the cacophony that followed him through the rest of his day blessedly absent. Thump. Thump.

The bitter air made his eyes water as he rounded the Quidditch pitch for the fifth and final time. Muscles in the back of his legs tightened, so he slowed his progress, intent on making the final half of his lap act as a cooldown from his morning workout. He practised his breathing, and the pounding in his ears gradually lessened while the sounds of the early morning began to leak through.

His head was clear, and though his body ached, he was awake and invigorated.

It felt good. _He_ felt good, which was a marvellous realisation, as that had rarely happened in his recent life. After the months of funerals and rebuilding and trials, of people seeking his attention but avoiding his gaze, of responsibility and duty and getting lost in the next steps of the wizarding world, he finally felt ready to take his own next step.

It was time to pull his life together.

He slowed to a walk, stopping as he approached the end of the Quidditch stands. He dropped his hands to his knees and breathed, then began to stretch. Pushing one leg out far behind him, he lowered his weight and held, breathing evenly. The silence settled in and stretched as tightly as his calves, so the towel that suddenly landed on his head came as a shock.

He nearly fell over in his hurry to pull the offending material from his face while also grasping at his wand from the pocket of his joggers. The familiar snort of laughter made him relax slightly, but he could feel himself blushing instead.

"Malfoy."

"Potter. I've been sitting here at least twenty minutes. If I were dangerous, you'd be in trouble. What was it again? Constant Vigilance?"

Harry rolled his eyes as he used the towel to mop off his face, the sweat chilly in the cold air. "You're dangerous enough," Harry muttered, and Malfoy smirked.

"Yes, well, not in the ways that count, thankfully."

It was Harry's turn to snort. It was Harry, after all, who had given testimony at Malfoy's trial that he was a terrible Death Eater and that he'd saved all their lives at Malfoy Manor.

Harry silently finished his stretches, ignoring Draco, but thinking about the other boy as he did so. Harry might have spoken on Malfoy's behalf and helped him with the legal issues, but it was Draco's actions since the war, his desire to change, that really made the difference in public opinion. The Slytherin was still Draco. He ruthlessly used his connections and his money—and his housemates desire to follow the connections and money—to his advantage. He simply used that advantage for new purposes…like donating to charities for those displaced during the war, helping rebuild after the war, and trying to make reparations for his family's actions.

He and Harry had come to an understanding. They weren't friends, but they weren't unfriendly, either. But that didn't explain what the hell Draco was doing there on an early Saturday morning, watching Harry run.

Harry looked back up as he finally walked over to the Quidditch stands, but Draco was gone. Reaching for his bag, Harry noticed an apple sitting next to a napkin wrapped around a bulky object. He pulled back the cover to find a bacon sandwich, still warm.

Harry looked up towards the castle where he could see Draco walking away, then glanced down at his sandwich, taking a bite. He hadn't even realised he was hungry, but the warm, savoury flavour poured over his tongue and he hummed in pleasure. Draco had brought him breakfast.

_Curious._

* * *

**2**

Harry held his godson in his arms, his hands rubbing up and down the toddler's overly warm back, unsure who he was comforting more, himself or the child. He slowly rocked in the chair and let his head fall back, looking at the ceiling.

Nightmares had woken Teddy up around 3 am. Harry had only been asleep about an hour, but then he was up with Teddy, soothing him, telling him stories…it had taken hours to get the boy back to sleep. The morning sun began to peek through the cracks around the curtains, and Harry sighed.

Merlin, he was exhausted. But at least he wasn't alone.

It was like Andromeda had _known_ what would happen while she was in France with Narcissa. She'd insisted that both Harry and Draco stay over to watch Teddy, despite both men's reassurances that they were perfectly capable on their own. So, when Harry woke to Teddy's screams, he'd quietly cast a Silencing Charm on Draco's door. At least someone would be sleeping well and able to care for the kid while Harry had a lie-in.

He continued to rock and let his mind wander. He'd never expected he would be this tired outside of the war, but he was pretty sure only part of it had to do with his missing sleep. It wasn't Teddy, or work, or the fact that he was too busy.

He was emotionally drained, he supposed.

Teddy turned his head over in his sleep, switching to Harry's other shoulder and leaving a damp, sweaty spot where he'd been laying. Harry smoothed the hair away from his sweet, heart-shaped face.

Ever since Ron had left Auror training to join George at the shop, and Hermione had moved into a flat near her university where Ron joined her six nights out of seven, Harry had been alone. It was fine, really, as he was generally busy with his own Auror training, and he spent whatever spare time he had with Teddy and Andromeda. Then there were Sunday lunches at the Weasleys', and the occasional pub night with Neville and the other trainees.

But he missed having someone who cared about where he was on any given evening, who wanted to be with him more than anyone else. He'd had that for a short time with Ginny, but she'd wanted something more from her life than he was willing to give, and they'd split as friends. She still visited from time to time as her own training allowed, but he missed the companionship they'd had.

He figured it was telling that the companionship was really _all_ he missed.

He kept rocking, lost in his thoughts until a throat clearing from the doorway caught his attention. Harry let his head lull to the side to look at the other man. Draco was casting a Dimming Charm on the window to filter out some of the sunlight now pouring through the edges of the curtains.

"How long have you been awake?" Draco asked quietly. He was dressed for the day and appeared to have already showered, the tips of his hair looking slightly damp.

"Dunno. Since around three. What time is it?"

Draco's eyebrows shot up. "Three? Merlin. It's nearly eight."

Harry nodded, the fog in his head attempting to do the math. He just continued to rock, barely noticing Draco disappearing for several minutes. It wasn't until Teddy was gently removed from Harry's arms that he focused again on the room around him.

"Wh—"

Draco carried Teddy to the cot and laid him down softly, pulling a blanket over his tiny, sleeping form, and then running his fingers through the boy's soft, blue hair. The tenderness in Draco's gaze made Harry's breath hitch, but he blamed it on the lack of sleep.

Turning back, Draco gestured for Harry to follow him out the door and into the kitchen. There, Harry found a freshly brewed pot of tea and a small basket of warm muffins set out on the table. Draco pointed to the nearest seat and Harry practically fell into it as Draco began to pour a cuppa, then handed him the muffin basket.

"Where'd these come from?" Harry asked, the tang of fresh blueberries on his tongue. He nearly moaned in relief.

Draco waited a moment, then shrugged. "I asked my house-elf to bring them by. You looked like you could use something before you went back to sleep."

Harry stared at the other man, unable to form coherent thoughts. He took a sip of his tea, then gave Draco a little smile. "Thank you."

Draco nodded curtly and withdrew a muffin for himself, taking a small bite. Harry tried not to watch Draco's mouth as a crumb stuck to the edge, a pink tongue darting out to capture it. Harry's face heated and he looked away, realising that his plate was empty now and that he was about to fall asleep where he sat.

"Right, well, uh, I think I'll get some sleep," he said, standing up. "Wake me at lunch and we can take Teddy to the park as we promised?"

Draco's eyes were unreadable, but he curled the side of his mouth. "Certainly. Sleep well, Potter."

* * *

**3**

"Are you still sleeping, Potter? Honestly…"

Malfoy's voice coming from the doorway made Harry startle awake.

"Wha—?" Harry sat up and ran his hand through his disgusting hair. He felt like shit, and he was pretty sure it was Thursday, which meant he hadn't bathed in three days. It was surreal to see his former nemesis, his now sometimes-friend, inexplicably standing in the doorway holding a tray of what appeared to be— "Is that… an egg with soldiers?" Harry had to be seeing things.

"A soft-boiled egg with sliced toast. Honestly, are you a child that needs cute names for all your food?" Malfoy strode into Harry's bedroom as if he'd been there hundreds of times before. As if this wasn't completely unorthodox, coming into your...your… well, coming into someone's room who you weren't on intimate terms with, carrying a tray of breakfast foods.

Malfoy stood at the side of Harry's bed, holding out the tray. "Well, can I put it down? I went through all the trouble of preparing this for you, so you can at least go through the trouble of eating it."

Harry blinked, then reached up and took the tray.

The egg was perfectly cooked, the top of the shell removed. Harry had seen the ornate silver stand that held it sitting for years in the Grimmauld Place cupboards, but it looked nothing like the little porcelain stand he'd always seen Aunt Petunia use, so he hadn't realised what it was. Weird. Beside it were six slices of buttered toast, two rashers of bacon, a glass of pumpkin juice and a cup of tea. Harry's stomach growled.

"I don't understand," Harry finally said, looking up at Malfoy. His blond hair looked clean and soft, and Harry wanted to reach out and touch it. Instead, he picked up the tea from the tray and took a sip. Irish Breakfast, with just a touch of lemon and sugar. Perfect.

Malfoy straightened his shoulders and looked around the room. "Well," he drawled, "Teddy told me you were sick, that you had been for a few days. He said he's worried about you, that you don't eat very much when you're sick."

"So…" Harry prompted, desperately curious who'd made this, frankly delicious, breakfast. Surely it wasn't Malfoy.

"So," Malfoy continued, "I promised Teddy I'd take care of it. So here you are. Breakfast. Now stop talking so much and eat."

Harry dipped the toast into the egg and took a bite. He let out a sigh of contentment. "Well, thank you, Malfoy. And tell your house-elf or whomever that it's perfect."

Malfoy's eyes narrowed as he looked back at Harry. Harry couldn't tell if he was hiding a smirk or a scowl. "You're welcome. And seeing as how _I_ made it, here, in your own kitchen, I'm glad to know it's _perfect_."

Harry nearly choked and took a drink of his juice to clear his throat. Malfoy cooked for him? Malfoy used Harry's kitchen and made him breakfast?

He watched Malfoy watching him eat, then realised something else. Malfoy did this to make Teddy happy, so he could reassure Teddy, his five-year-old cousin, that Harry had eaten.

Harry smiled at the thought, which seemed to startle Malfoy, his eyes widening before he cleared his throat. "Yes, well, don't let it go to your head. I'm unlikely to do it again." He glanced around the room again and pulled out his wand, quickly casting a few cleaning spells before focusing on Harry. "When you're done, get up and take a shower. You positively reek. I can't bring Teddy to see you like this."

Harry took another bite of his breakfast, but this time he held in the smile that wanted to escape.

* * *

**4**

"Good morning, sunshine," came a smooth, not at all hungover voice. A hand appeared from somewhere, holding a blessed phial of Hangover Potion.

Harry groaned. He dropped his head back down onto the lumpy sofa pillow and hid his face, quickly replaying the night before in his head. Merlin, he hated drinking too much.

Okay, he was at Draco's… He was in Draco's flat because… Right. Petunia.

So, the thing was, over the last months, Harry and Draco had moved from the kinda-sorta-sometimes type of friends they'd been for several years to real-friends. Friends who spent time together and talked about real stuff. Friends that did nice things for one another. Friends who noticed when something was wrong and listened.

And when, the previous day, Harry had inexplicably run into Aunt Petunia in Harrods while shopping for a birthday gift for Hermione, and he maybe-sorta-might-have subsequently had a mini-breakdown, he ran to his friend Draco.

He couldn't say why he chose Draco in this circumstance, only that the thought of running to Ron or Hermione (or Ginny or Luna or any other number of people that would be glad to help) made him sick to his stomach.

But Draco didn't really know about his childhood. Draco didn't have context, so seeking out Draco—Hermione probably would have called it "seeking out comfort from Draco", but Harry didn't want to examine that thought too closely—made sense to him. He wouldn't look at him with pity. He'd simply listen and offer him a drink.

And that's what Harry had needed.

Now it was the next morning. Twelve hours and many, many drinks later. The smell of coffee, combined with the relief that the Hangover Potion provided, made Harry feel almost human again.

"Thank Merlin," he croaked.

"Hmm, yes, well, I'm not Merlin, but you can call me that if you like, I suppose."

Harry opened his eyes to see a tray set on the coffee table. He picked up the steaming cup of coffee coloured with cream and sugar, then examined the warm, buttery croissants, the lovely raspberry jam, and the hunk of cheese displayed before him. He looked up and cocked an eyebrow at the blond as the man sat down on the chair across from him.

Draco looked…good. Good…like fresh and healthy…like someone who spent the evening before listening to Harry's sob stories while refilling his glass and simultaneously not judging. So yeah, Draco looked good and…friendly-like. Which was an attractive look on him, objectively speaking.

Harry was suddenly extremely thankful that his internal monologue was internal. He sounded like an idiot.

Draco seemed to be waiting for something, so Harry added a dollop of jam to the croissant and took a bite, letting out a long moan as the tart raspberry flavour flooded his mouth. For some reason, Draco shifted uncomfortably, but Harry was too foggy to think much about it.

Harry finished chewing and took a sip of his coffee. "Thanks. For last night. I'm really sorry about all that. I'm sure you had better things to do than to listen to me going on like an arsehole for hours on end. A right Potter-pity-party it was." Harry looked down at his croissant, embarrassment starting to flood his chest. "I owe you one."

Draco made a noise Harry couldn't decipher, so he looked up to see the familiar glare of irritation on Draco's face. "You don't owe me shit."

Harry couldn't for the life of him figure out why that statement would piss Draco off, and he was pretty sure the confusion showed upon his face because Draco looked even more annoyed.

Draco stood up and stalked— _did the man do everything gracefully?_ —across the room to the small kitchen area, pouring himself a cup of coffee. "Fifteen years, Potter. Fifteen years you've let me torment you about your charmed life. Fifteen years you've listened to me taunt you, tease you, make snide comments—even after we've become friends—about the benefits you've had all your life." He put his cup down with a thunk, coffee splashing all over the countertop. "Fifteen fucking years, and now, _now_ I learn that it was all bullshit, that those...those...those _people_ made you their fucking house-elf your entire childhood. Worse than a house-elf, as even my arsehole of a father fed the damned house-elves."

He stood with his hands splayed on the counter, leaning forwards as if for support, his chest heaving. Harry watched, speechless, unable to move his eyes from Draco's visage.

Draco took a deep breath, and when he continued, his voice was even, though it still sounded sharp. "And then you say you owe me for one night of helping you forget, one night of taking care of you while you coped." He set down his coffee and ran his hand through his hair. "And that's not even mentioning the number of nights you've done the same for me." He scowled. "Eat your damned breakfast before I kick your arse for being a fucking imbecile."

Harry swallowed the lump in his throat, then nodded. He looked down at his tray of food, something Draco had made for him simply because he wanted to take care of him, and a smile escaped.

"Thank you, Draco."

"You're welcome, Harry."

It felt good to have someone care. Even if they were just a friend.

* * *

**5**

Harry scowled at the ceiling, cursing the late autumn sunlight filtering in through the windows.

He hated this day. It was worse than the anniversary of the Battle. At least on that day, he wasn't the only one who mourned. He may have been surrounded by celebrations, but they were tinged with the hue of remembrance.

As a child, this day mostly passed without notice. As he got a bit older, maybe nine or ten years old, Dudley went to a Halloween party or two, but it still wasn't something that bothered him. But once he got to Hogwarts, once Harry _knew_ that the day was the anniversary of his parents' death, and once Harry saw the spectacle Dumbledore made of Halloween, this day _hurt_.

It was like being hit by a tidal wave of memories of everyone he'd lost. This was the day, more than any other, he mourned his parents, and Sirius, and Remus. It was like a representation of all the parenting figures he should have had, all disappearing from his life.

And this was the day that sent him to Privet Drive. And gave him a scar. And made him an outcast.

It fucking sucked.

Hermione and Ron had long before learned that Harry needed to be left alone on Halloween. Suggestions of anything else were met with angry words and irritated scowls.

It was better this way. He could get his wallowing out with no one to see him. No one to pity him.

He rolled over, trying to force himself out of bed. He'd taken the day off work, so nobody would notice if he just went back to sleep and woke up the next day.

Except…

"Harry!" Draco's voice rang up the stairs.

Draco, evidently, hadn't gotten the memo. Harry groaned, stood up, and pulled on his joggers and t-shirt laying on the floor. He ran his hand through his hair and forced himself out the door and down the stairway to the sitting room on the floor below. Malfoy's face smiled at him from the Floo.

"Heard you were skiving off work today," Draco said as soon as he saw him. "Are you sick?"

Harry couldn't bring himself to talk yet, so he just raised an eyebrow and shook his head.

"Perfect. Well, I have to make a quick trip to Paris for the day. I have a case of mouse-ear chickweed I need to pick up. Damned stuff just refuses to grow outside of France, even in the greenhouses. Anyway, when I heard you'd taken the day off, I thought you could go with me and we'd make a day of it." His face was animated, his eyes bright. He looked very pleased with his idea.

"Uh, listen, Malfoy, I'm really not in the mood today." He thought Draco might have flinched. "But thanks for the invitation." He heard the flat tone of his own voice, but he just couldn't seem to push more feeling into it. Not if he wanted the conversation to stay neutral.

Draco stared at him a moment, the smile falling from his face. "What's wrong?"

Harry just couldn't do it. "Nothing. I just need to be left alone and I'll be fine later. I'll talk to you Saturday, yeah?"

"Har—"

But Harry didn't wait for him to finish; he'd already ended the connection and locked the Floo. Draco would be pissed off at being dismissed, and somewhere in his stomach, Harry was able to feel enough to notice a pang at the idea of disappointing his friend. But, well, he'd worry about that tomorrow.

Today, the grief was overwhelming and he was alone. As he preferred it.

* * *

It was midafternoon when Harry was ready to return home from Godric's Hollow. After shutting the Floo on Draco and getting cleaned up, he'd spent most of the morning in the cemetery. He'd sat, talking to his parents, to Sirius and Remus, hoping that somewhere they were listening.

Merlin, he missed them.

After, he had cast a quick Glamour Charm on his face and went walking around the small town, just as he did every year. He greeted a few wizards and witches that called out to him, but the residents of the town generally respected his need for quiet and left him to himself. He'd stopped in front of the cottage, reading messages of good wishes that still appeared at the gate, and wondered about the people, the couples, the families that felt the need to seek out this house and leave messages. Were they happy?

He ran his hands through his hair, took a deep breath, and turned. He arrived with a loud crack in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place, ready to spend the rest of the evening with only his glass of Firewhisky.

Except, he wasn't alone.

"Harry?" Draco's voice was soft, tentative in the dim light of the kitchen. Harry stared, struck dumb, at the sight of Draco in front of the hob, stirring a red sauce that smelled kind of amazing.

"What—" He cut himself off, trying to regulate the tone of his voice. Draco didn't realise, and it wasn't fair of Harry to be nasty. Not when Draco was standing in his kitchen, cooking. He took a deep breath and tried again. "I thought I told you I wasn't in the mood for visitors today."

Draco continued stirring and took a sip from a glass of red wine he picked up from the counter. "Yes, well, you didn't seem well." He put down his own glass, then picked up the bottle and poured a fresh glass for Harry. He stepped closer and set it on the table in front of where Harry stood. He looked like someone setting food in front of a feral dog, waiting to see what would happen. He stepped back again to the hob and waited.

Harry gave in and grudgingly sat down, letting his shoulders slump and stretching out his legs. He took the glass and eyed Draco, waiting on him to continue.

"Anyway, I happened to bump into Hermione, and—"

"You bumped into Hermione? While she's at work at the Ministry? The place you said you weren't going today?"

Draco raised an eyebrow and shrugged. "Yes. I asked her if you were well, and she explained about today, and what it does to you."

Harry closed his eyes, focusing on his breathing. He would not lose his temper.

"Listen, you don't have to talk to me. You don't have to acknowledge I'm here. I'm going to feed you, and I'm going to be here if you need someone, and I'm going to make sure you make it back into your bed to sleep it off after. That's all."

Harry's mind spun. Hermione always wanted to talk about it, and Ron wanted to distract him, and he hated that. He wanted to mourn, dammit, and they wouldn't let him. It made sense to push them away, to do it himself.

But Draco was going to just be there. Just take care of him. Just… Harry felt something burning behind his eyes, his nose starting to tingle. He looked away, hoping the other man didn't notice. He took a sip of his wine, the full, rich liquid washing away the dusty flavour that had settled in his mouth all day.

He looked up at Draco. "Okay."

* * *

That night, Harry drank a lot. Draco did as promised and stayed quiet, mostly out of Harry's way when he wanted to angrily pace or sit on the floor and weep. It was nearing midnight when something changed.

"Draco," he said, looking over at the man on the sofa beside him. Draco had been listening to Harry ramble for the previous two hours about Merlin-knew-what. He remembered talking about the letters he'd found written between Remus and Sirius, the realisation that they'd been lovers and not only friends. He remembered explaining his confusion when he'd found those, that perhaps he'd not known either man as well as he thought he had.

And Draco hadn't tried to make him feel better, hadn't reassured him of anything. He'd just listened and, at one point, held Harry's hand.

The room was fuzzy around the edges thanks to the empty Firewhisky bottle on the coffee table, but Draco, his grey eyes watching him in the dim light… Draco's face was clear.

"Thank you," Harry finally got out. "For tonight." He looked down at where Draco's hand sat resting on the cushion next to Harry's. "I thought I needed to be alone, but, well, I think this was better."

Draco's voice was quiet. "You're an idiot."

Harry laughed and looked up, and then he let the moment lead him, refusing to let his mind interrupt his actions. He tilted forwards, and when Draco didn't pull back, when he seemed to lean into it a bit as well, Harry found Draco's mouth with his own.

Draco's lips were soft and moving, and when he felt Draco's tongue teasing, Harry opened his mouth with a moan, welcoming the intrusion. Harry knew he was drunk and things were happening in patches of which he was only half aware. One moment they were kissing, the next Draco's arms were around him and Harry was crawling into his magnificent lap. Harry pushed his hips forwards, eager to feel more, to feel something good instead of the intense grief he'd felt all day. Gods, anything but that grief.

But then it was over, and Draco was pulling away, pushing Harry off him, standing up, and Harry had to shake his head to figure out what was going on. "What—"

Draco held his hand out to Harry's, pulling him up when Harry took it. "You need some water and sleep. Come on, let's tuck you in. I'll sleep on the sofa if you need anything."

Harry stared, confused. He leant forwards again, hoping to pick back up where they'd left off, but Draco put his hand between them.

"No, Harry. Not tonight. I promised you I'd be here to listen and take care of you, not take advantage." If Harry were being fair, he'd admit he heard the sound of regret laced through Draco's voice, that he recognised the longing in Draco's eyes. But he wasn't feeling fair. He was feeling rejected, and horny, and as though he'd lost something once again.

"Whatever," he growled, whirling around and nearly losing his balance. "Just one more person doing what they think is best for me and not listening to what I want. Sleep wherever. I can take care of myself."

He stalked up the stairs and into his bedroom, slamming the door behind him. He kicked off his clothes and made his way into the bathroom, pausing before the mirror. He looked like shit. His eyes were swollen and bloodshot from the alcohol and the tears, and his hair was standing straight up from hours of running his hands through it.

His angry words to Draco bounced through his head, but he shrugged them off. He had to piss, and he just wanted to sleep. He'd deal with it tomorrow.

When he got back to his bed, a large glass of water and a Hangover Potion were on his nightstand. He didn't even try to wonder about it before he fell onto the bed and passed out.

* * *

**+1**

Harry woke the next morning in his bed, his head pounding. He forced himself to peel his eyes open, which was necessary as they were practically crusted closed. Disgusted, he reached for his glasses, pushed them on his face, and tilted his head back to see the clock. 9:23 am. Next to the clock was a glass of water and a potion.

His mind flickered back to the night before, and he groaned. Draco.

Draco had taken care of him, again; had listened, had been there when he needed him, again. And Harry had kissed him like a drunken arsehole.

Although… He knew he'd been drunk, but the memories flowing through his mind suggested that Draco had kissed him back. Hadn't he? Before he pushed Harry off? Not just kissed him, but sucked on his neck and bucked up into him and...yeah. Yeah, he had.

Harry had been so pissed he'd not considered. Draco's face flashed in Harry's memories. " _I promised you I'd be here to listen and take care of you, not take advantage."_

But the thing was…

The thing was, that's what Draco always did, wasn't it? He took care of Harry. He'd been doing it for years. Listening, being there, making sure he ate, making sure someone was there to take care of him. Knowing what he needed even when Harry didn't.

Merlin, Harry was so fucking stupid. How many years had this been going on and he just hadn't noticed? Five? Six? He thought back to a bacon sandwich left next to his bag by the Quidditch pitch. Fuck, since eighth year?

He stepped into the shower, his mind racing, wondering what he should do next. What could he do to show Draco he finally _knew_ —knew that he'd been stupid, knew that what Draco had, what Draco _offered_ , was what Harry wanted?

And that Harry wanted to do the same for him.

He rinsed the soap out of his hair, shut off the water, his mind swirling like the soap currently circling the drain. Stepping out of the shower, he scrubbed the taste of Firewhisky from his mouth with his toothbrush and glanced in the mirror. What did Draco see when he looked at him? He was just a mess of a man, always forgetting to take care of himself, forgetting to sleep, to eat, to take vacations. And he had issues. Gods, he had mountains of issues. Why would anyone stick around for so long, put themselves through the chaos that was his life?

He dressed, pulling on a simple grey t-shirt and blue jeans, leaving his feet bare, and went looking for Draco.

It wasn't hard to find him. He was asleep on the sofa where Harry had left him the night before. He had a pillow and blanket pulled from Harry's linen closet, and he snored lightly. Harry stared at him for a moment—his sharp nose, his short, pale hair messy from a night's sleep, his lips that Harry could almost remember the taste of from the evening before.

Harry looked to the kitchen and smiled. He knew what he'd do.

He was just finishing making the pancakes when Draco stepped into the room. Harry's back was to him, but he could feel the other man's presence, the change of the tension in the air. "I put tea on the table for you. Earl Grey."

"That's my favourite. Thank you."

"I know." Harry turned and found Draco's eyes on him. "Pancakes."

"Mmm," Draco said with a smile. Draco's long preference for sweets at breakfast was something Harry had noticed even back at Hogwarts. He placed the plate on the table and set the chocolate-hazelnut spread he knew Draco preferred down next to him. "What's all this about?"

Harry sat down by his own plate but didn't pick up his fork. "Just wanted to make you breakfast."

Draco got a weird smile on his face, his eyes narrowing on Harry's as he took a bite of his food, but Harry just decided to plough forward.

"Thank you, for last night…all of it."

"Harry, I—"

"Let me finish. I've been playing through a few things in my mind this morning, and I realise that I've been completely blind, haven't I? For years."

Draco froze, his eyes widening slightly. "Go on."

"And when I kissed you last night, when you kissed me back, when we—when you stopped it from going too far, well, I wasn't fair. I was a complete arse, really, and still, you were there, taking care of me."

"I told you I would." Draco's voice was quiet, cautious, as though he were afraid to tip a delicate balance.

"Like you always do," Harry murmured. "That's what I realised this morning. You've been taking care of me for years, being there for me, and I've been utterly daft and haven't paid attention."

Draco's eyes fell to his plate, and Harry couldn't see his expression anymore. But enough had passed that no matter what he said, their relationship would change after this moment. Either way, it would change, so he might as well try.

"I want you, Draco. If you want me. If you want to try to have something with me. I don't know why you would, because I'm a fucking idiot who can't see his fucking hand in front of his face, but—"

Draco had stood up and rounded the side of the table before Harry had even realised he was out of his seat. Harry gasped, but Draco was on his lap, kissing him, and it was so much better than what he could remember from the night before. Hazelnut and Earl Grey and something else, something that screamed Draco in Harry's head, flooded Harry's senses. Before he could respond, Draco sat back.

"Shut up, Potter. Nobody calls you an idiot but me." He took a deep breath, then smiled. "You made me breakfast."

"Well, you've cooked for me enough times at this point. It's about time I returned the favour."

"Indeed," Draco agreed, leaning forward for another peck, then standing back up and walking regally back to his chair. "You've got a few more to catch up on, then." He placed his napkin on his lap. "Next time, I'll expect Kedgeree, so please, do practice."

Harry rolled his eyes at Draco's pompous tone and took a bite of his own pancakes. At least if things were changing, they'd still be the same. And maybe, just maybe, Harry and Draco could take care of each other.

Either way, there would be a next time.

* * *

_Finis_

**Author's Note:**

> This work is part of the Seven Shades of Romance anthology, a series of Drarry fics inspired by Romantic Tropes.
> 
> There’s also a playlist created for this anthology that can be found [here on Spotify](https://spoti.fi/3tIY5TG); one song for each of the seven fics included in the collection.


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